


Over the Edge

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Deathfic, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, Pre-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn goes back to Bree to investigate the death of a dear friend and finds more than he bargains for.<br/>Rated: Mature</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sophinisba for the beta and encouragement!

As Aragorn approached Bree's South Gate, the late autumn chill that penetrated his cloak and tunic and heavy shirt started to fall away. Dried Orc blood caked his sword, and his muscles throbbed from a recent fight followed by leagues of walking. None of that mattered now. Just ahead lay comfort. A multitude of lantern lights twinkled, spilling out of windows and doors of warm cottages and hobbit holes. For the next few nights Aragorn need not shiver alone under the cold stars, watching distant lights and longing to sit before friendly hearths. Tonight he would sleep in a real bed, eat a hot meal, and engage in delightful conversation with a dear friend.

For years Bree had been but an outpost for him, a pleasant resting place where he could smoke a pipe by a fire and where he could sleep under a roof. But more often than not, the village felt lonelier than the wild. The Bree-folk scorned and avoided him unless they craved a tale from the lands beyond. Most of what Aragorn knew about the world would freeze their blood, but he could always remember a gentler tale to suit his audience. The Bree-folk, Big and Little, listened to his tales, riveted, but they kept their distance and they never invited him to their homes…or even to share a mug of ale with them.

Until he became acquainted with Frodo Baggins.

 

On a rainy, cold night nearly three years earlier, Aragorn was telling a tale to an audience of men and hobbits. It was not too gruesome a tale and its setting was far enough away so as not to frighten the sheltered Bree-landers, a rather mild tale about fighting off Wargs in the wilderness of Hollin. He noticed in his audience a young hobbit with a cleft in his chin, his face flushed with intelligent interest, his eyes the most brilliant shade of blue that Aragorn had seen. He seemed out of place among the Bree-folk, a butterfly among moths. This hobbit was fairer than most. Aragorn had never seen such an elegant hobbit before in Bree. There was something vaguely familiar about the way he listened by leaning forward with his chin cupped in his hands.

When Aragorn finished his tale, most of his audience drew away, muttering their thanks but still eyeing him with suspicion.

The hobbit with the bright eyes approached him. "Frodo Baggins at your service," he said and bowed. "I believe you know my cousin, Bilbo. Unless there is more than one Strider the Ranger who roams the wild."

With a warm smile, Aragorn grasped Frodo's hands in his and squeezed. Now he knew why the manner in which Frodo had listened to his tale seemed familiar. In Rivendell, Aragorn had often seen Bilbo hunched forward with intent listening, chin cupped in hands. So this was the Frodo, the beloved cousin that Bilbo and Gandalf spoke of so often, the best hobbit in the Shire. But as far as Bilbo knew, Frodo lived in comfort in Bag End.

"Mr. Baggins, what brings you so far from home?"

Frodo's smile fled his eyes, and he withdrew his hands from Aragorn's grasp. He pulled a chair beside the Ranger. "I have settled in Bree for the time. After Bilbo left, there was not much for me in Hobbiton. Bree is closer to the wide world, to Bilbo, should ever he choose to travel back this way. Perhaps one day I shall make a trip to Rivendell." The last he said in a soft, wistful tone.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Baggins."

"Have you eaten?" Frodo asked, glancing at Butterbur.

Aragorn nodded. "I have."

"How long will you stay in Bree?"

"A few days. No more. Business takes me South."

"Then you shall stay with me for those few days. My cottage is humble but it is far more comfortable than an inn, no offense to Mr. Butterbur, of course. Gandalf the wizard is a frequent visitor and so I have a bed large enough for you."

"Are you certain?" Aragorn marveled at Frodo's open trust. Frodo's friendliness toward him cheered his heart. It had been many months since anyone had spoken to him without averting his eyes or moving away as quickly as possible. It was balm to a lonely heart. "I've already reserved a room here at the inn."

Frodo raised his eyebrows in a teasing manner. "Bilbo said you were no fool, Strider. I must question your wisdom in turning down a hobbit's hospitality."

Aragorn threw his head back and laughed, a sound rarely heard in Bree. "All right, Mr. Baggins. You win. I accept."

 

Thus began a custom that continued over the years, one that became dear to Aragorn's heart. Whenever he came to Bree, he would make his way straight to Frodo's cottage. At night Frodo always kept lit the lantern that  
hung from the eave of his cottage. No matter the hour of Aragorn's arrival, the hobbit always appeared overjoyed to see him, always gladly cooked him a hot meal and put tea on. They would then sit before the hearth and talk for hours, sometimes until the sun rose. Frodo would inquire about Aragorn's journeys, and Aragorn told him everything, easing any and all burdens from his heart. Not only did he relate the gentle tales that he reserved for the common-room, but also the grisly, frightening, blood-freezing tales. Also Aragorn told tales about majestic mountains and woods filled with ethereal magic, of Elves and ships passing into the West and haunting melodies and fragrant blossoms that evoked the sun and moon. Frodo wanted to hear them all. As their friendship deepened, Aragorn told Frodo his deepest desire, his love for Elrond's daughter.

Bree, and more particularly Frodo's cottage, became a haven, a place where Aragorn's heart, body, and mind could be mended and soothed for a few days.

* * *

 

Night had fallen completely by the time Aragorn reached Frodo's front stoop.

Aragorn puzzled that the lantern had burned out, and all was dark inside.

With a worried frown, Aragorn rapped on the door. He braced for the familiar creak of bolt sliding, but from inside there was only silence. Aragorn knocked again, hard, because Frodo would be furious if Aragorn gave up so fast and took a room in the inn.

When there was still no answer, Aragorn retreated, disheartened. Frodo must have traveled to the Shire to visit family. It was just bad luck that it coincided with Aragorn's first trip to Bree in several months.

Aragorn made his way to the Prancing Pony, hoping that perhaps Frodo had gone to meet friends there. Upon entering the common-room, he immediately sensed something was amiss. Butterbur startled to see him, and something like panic flickered across his countenance. He wiped his hands on his apron. He bent to whisper to Nob. Several Bree-folk stared at Aragorn.

Aragorn settled at a dark table at the back of the room. His stomach curdled with apprehension. Butterbur and Nob again whispered and looked at Aragorn. After a time, Butterbur approached him, his shoulders slumped.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked.

"May I talk to you a minute…" He looked over his shoulder toward the dark hallway. "In private."

Aragorn nodded and followed Butterbur into the dark hallway outside of the common-room.

Butterbur sat beside him. "Strider, I am right sorry to have to tell you."

A violent chill gripped Aragorn's heart. "Is it Frodo?"

Butterbur swallowed, nodding, and for the first time Aragorn noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed.

"Is Frodo all right?" Aragorn asked.

_Frodo's ill, but he is all right. He's at rest in the healer's cottage or back in the Shire recovering -- anywhere_

"He's dead," Butterbur managed. His fat chin shook.

Aragorn's stomach filled with ice.

_He's dead…he's dead…he's dead_

It echoed through his mind like a hideous war drum.

There must have been a mistake, a misunderstanding. Frodo was hardy and healthy, a robust hobbit, newly come of age.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked.

Butterbur shook his head. "Six or seven weeks ago, somewhere around early autumn, he set off on an adventure, as he put it, with young Gamin Rushlight and Holden Ferny. They set off to explore the Weatherhills. He was telling everyone that they were the closest thing we have to mountains."

Aragorn clutched the table. "Those lands are not safe." He found it difficult to breathe, and his chest felt as if a mighty troll had trampled on it.

Butterbur nodded. "You know Frodo best and you know how he itched for adventure. He'd become friendly with Gamin, a lad of fifteen years, Rushlight the Cobbler's son. Frodo helps—" he glanced wearily at Aragorn "helped out in that shop a lot. And Gamin knows Holden, an older lad of eighteen summers or so, who had the bright idea that they should adventure into the Weatherhills."

"How did Frodo die?" Aragorn interrupted sharply. Just saying it aloud made it true, and he remembered Frodo's lantern, dark and cold, and loneliness clutched his heart. The welcoming light of Bree had flickered out…forever. That lantern would remain dark until the end of time.

The hallway darkened.

"There was an accident. Frodo slipped and fell while they hiked a treacherous trail…I don't know much more than that; you'll have to speak to the lads that saw it."

Aragorn grabbed Butterbur's arm, digging his fingers in. Butterbur looked at him in fear, but Aragorn could not seem to release his grip. "Was he in pain? Did he perish immediately?" It was important, very pressing, for him to know that one thing. He had to know that Frodo did not for one moment suffer, even from the terror of knowing that he was going to die. Frodo had always shuddered about great heights – he had paled during Aragorn's vivid telling of the tale of Beren's escape from the Enemy along the sheer cliffs that dropped into horrifying spider-infested blackness.

Why then had he willingly walked a trail along cliffs like that? The Weatherhills were treacherous, not only in terrain but in that they harbored Orcs and other dangerous creatures, not the least of which were men of ill intent. What were two sheltered Bree lads and a young, inexperienced hobbit doing exploring for pleasure? Why had nobody stopped them?

"I do not know any more about the manner of his death." Butterbur removed his arm from Aragorn's grip and held his hands together, studying them in misery. "Strider, the lads…after it happened…they could not recover his…they could not get to him. It was too dangerous…"

The cold knife in Aragorn's stomach twisted. During the past weeks, Aragorn had trekked through the wild, oblivious to his sweet friend lying unprotected at the bottom of a cliff.

"He lies there still?" Aragorn asked.

Butterbur looked away. "It's been nigh on six or seven weeks."

A wave of dizziness overcame Aragorn. A horribly vivid image haunted him of Frodo lying crumpled at the bottom of a cliff, his sparkling eyes dull and vacant, rain pouring on him. Aragorn swallowed against nausea, pushing away thoughts of buzzards and other scavengers.

Despite the nearby hearth, an inner cold wormed through him and he shivered.

"I'm so sorry I had to tell you this," Butterbur said. "I know he was a dear friend. He was to all of us, too."

Aragorn nodded, barely able to speak. His throat ached from holding back the weeping that he would only do in his own company. "I will question the lads tomorrow. For tonight I will need a room."

Once in his room, he wept freely for the first time in many years. His chest felt crushed, and the wool blanket did not keep out the chill.

 

* * *

At first light, Aragorn went to the cobbler's shop. Rushlight stood behind the counter studying a parchment of figures. He looked up and when he recognized Aragorn, his face fell and he sighed. "I suppose you've heard?"

Aragorn nodded. He had gathered control of his own grief, wrapped it in tight coils inside, and they throbbed in his chest. "I would like to speak to your lad about the accident."

Rushlight nodded. "It's not the same around the shop without young Frodo. Not the same. It's as if the sun has been taken away forever."

Aragorn nodded. He understood all too well.

"Gamin's suffering, truly suffering," Rushlight said. "He adored Frodo. Poor, dear Frodo. I can only hope that he's at peace."

He shouted for Gamin.

Gamin appeared from the back room. He was a lanky youth with long dark hair pulled behind him. He had begun to grow a beard. He looked long-faced, and Aragorn sensed an immediate wariness in him.

_He fears I will blame him for the accident._

Gamin followed Aragorn outside to the front stoop. Aragorn sat and gestured for Gamin to sit beside him. Gamin did so, and he began to weep in earnest.

Aragorn waited a few moments in silence. Frodo would never have believed that his death would evoke such grief in others. He always had laughed dismissively and with great embarrassment at Aragorn's insistence that anyone who knew him could not help but love him.

He squeezed Gamin's shoulder. "Tell me what happened."

Gamin took a few sobbing breaths. Aragorn was struck by how young he was. Still a boy, really.

Gamin began to speak in a halting voice. "Frodo and I were talking one day about adventures. We were softening leather and cutting it and we always had such a good time. He taught me my letters. Did you know that? My dad didn't much like that, but I caught on fast. Frodo wanted to see mountains. I said there weren't mountains too close to Bree, but that there were big, craggy hills a few days yonder with cliffs that were rather mountainous. I asked if he had ever camped in the wild and he said he had."

But only in the Shire, Aragorn thought with a sinking heart.

"Holden Ferny, an older lad, he said he knew this trail that was supposed to have haunts on it. And I like those sorts of tales…and so does Frodo. Holden agreed to take us up the haunted trail."

Aragorn could see the truth in that, of Frodo wanting adventure when it was offered on a platter like that.

_I would have taken you…should have…if only I could have another chance._

"What happened?"

Gamin took a deep breath and began to speak.

* * *

Uneasiness clutched Gamin's stomach as the trail that Holden claimed would be easy narrowed and steepened. On both sides the walls and protective boulders fell away, leaving dizzying sheer drops on either side. The trail became a narrow ridgeback that climbed upward toward a summit. The sky was harsh, brilliant blue. Gamin could see forever, it seemed, leagues upon leagues of forests and craggy hills, an awe-inspiring panorama.

Gamin, in the rear, called up to Holden. "You didn't say anything about cliffs."

Holden laughed. "Are you scared?"

"Of course not!" Gamin said quickly. He would not show fear to this older lad who would take any such opportunity to tease him mercilessly.

Frodo paused and looked behind him. Gamin saw the deep fear etched in his face. His eyes darkened with worry. "This may not be a wise idea. None of us are experienced climbers."

Holden looked back at them with scorn. "The end isn't far from here. Are you scared, hobbit?"

"Well, yes, a little. I'm not fond of sheer cliffs."

Holden only laughed. "Don't worry. It's not so bad, as long as you don't lose your footing. You don't want to miss the view from the top, do you? There's really nothing like it in this world."

Gamin thought that he might not mind missing the view. He would love to turn around and get back to the safe part of the trail.

"We should go back," Frodo said. "I am concerned for Gamin."

Holden laughed. "He's not a wee babe. He can take care of himself. Don't you want to see the haunted summit?"

"I'm all right, Frodo," Gamin said, annoyed and embarrassed and now suddenly determined to make the hike to the summit, fear be damned. He might say something later to Frodo about embarrassing him in front of Holden.

Frodo dropped his voice so that only Gamin could hear. "Go on in front of me at least. I'll feel better if I know you're safe."

"You don't have to worry, Frodo," Gamin said. "Really."

"Just do it as a favor to me."

Gamin climbed past Frodo and they continued along the dizzying ridgeback. Gamin swallowed against a heady fear and tried not to look down. He tried to just focus on one step in front of the other, closer and closer to the summit. Holden showed no fear. Gamin wished he could be so brave  
.  
Well, he could. Damn Frodo and his worrying. He would walk and laugh and jest, unmindful of the drops on either side of his feet.

A terrible crunching sound from behind him, followed by a hoarse cry, made Gamin whirl around, and he watched in horror as Frodo slid off the trail, scrambling to cling to anything. He snagged a loose boulder with both hands and it shuddered under his weight. Gamin's heart turned to ice, and he froze. Frodo looked up at him with silent pleading, his eyes wide and filled with terror and also the sorrow of knowing he was going to die. Gamin dropped to his knees and started to crawl toward him.

"I'm coming…just stay still."

"No," Frodo gasped. "It's too slippery. You'll fall. Rope--" He choked as the boulder he held shuddered and cracked. "Gamin!" he shouted with new panic. "Get the rope!"

"Don't move!" Gamin shouted. "Holden, where's the rope?"

Holden stared in numb shock, unable to move or speak.

"Holden! Where is the rope?" Gamin started to scramble toward Holden's pack when Frodo's fingers slid from the rock and without even a cry he plummeted for a sickening length of time. Gamin screamed his name over and over, as if he believed that perhaps Frodo might save himself on another boulder or that somehow he would survive the fall.

"He's dead." Holden collapsed to his knees, clearly shaken. "We better turn back now. No use going on up to the summit."

Gamin wept. "We have to go down to him – we can't – he might be hurt – we can't leave him."

Holden turned to him in a fury. "And just how do you plan to get down there? The hobbit is dead. Nobody could survive that fall. Look down. Do you see all that blood?"

Gamin peered over the edge, his heart cold in his throat, and far below he saw a figure crumpled over a pile of rocks. Dark fluid seeped from the back of his head, spreading--

Gamin's stomach hurled and from his precarious perch, he threw up several times.

* * *

Gamin broke off, sobbing. Aragorn saw how he trembled, clearly deeply distressed by what he had witnessed. "I'm just so sorry – I couldn't – there was no way to get down to him."

"You were wise not to," Aragorn said, sickened that Frodo had suffered even a short moment of terror and the knowledge that he was going to plunge to his death.

"Even while he knew he was going to die, he was concerned for my safety," Gamin said. "And I couldn't save him—"

Aragorn cut him off, unable to bear more. "Where I can find Holden?"

A flicker of wariness passed over Gamin's expression.

"He's off with his Uncle Bill, Bill Ferny that is. He helps around the cottage."

Aragorn nodded and left. Gamin's story haunted him and the inner chill deepened. He could not rid his mind of the image of his dear Frodo clinging for life to a loose boulder, looking up in terror with those wide, expressive eyes.

_Even that you suffered for one second, dear friend, it is one second too long._

Aragorn would find a way to get down the treacherous rocks to Frodo – even if there was little of him left. He would rest in peace.

Aragorn found Holden in Bill Ferny's garden as expected. The youth looked sullen and less than thrilled to see Aragorn. Aragorn braced himself. From Gamin's tale, Holden had not been a friend of Frodo's and so Aragorn should not expect much grief.

"A word with you, please."

Holden dropped his rake and let Aragorn inside the gate. They sat on a rickety, mostly rotted bench. Holden would not meet Aragorn's eyes. Aragorn took an immediate dislike to him.

"Tell me what happened the day Frodo Baggins died."

Holden looked at Aragorn in open hostility. "It wasn't my fault. He slipped."

Aragorn grabbed the front of Holden's tunic and spoke in a grim, dangerous voice. "Frodo Baggins was a dear friend and if you cannot be more forthright, I will make your life very unpleasant. Do I make myself clear?"

"I begged for us to turn back, but he didn't want to."

"Who?"

"Frodo. He insisted on leading us up to that summit. The trail was very treacherous. It got narrow and there were drops on either side of us. I'm not afraid, of course, but Gamin was and he was starting to get uncomfortable. Gamin had never done much hiking and the hobbit had short legs and no shoes…I just didn't have a good feeling about the whole thing. But Frodo insisted. He wanted his adventure and to see the summit."

Aragorn could not believe it of Frodo. He was too kindhearted to press to go on if his younger charge was fearful. And furthermore, he could not see Frodo wanting to press ahead with cliffs on either side. Already Holden's story had wildly diverted from Gamin's.

"Go on."

"Then Frodo insisted that Gamin walk in front of him because Gamin was so frightened and he wanted to make sure he didn't freeze up. Then it all happened so fast – we climbed up this boulder – first me, then Gamin, but Frodo was too small to scale it easily. He refused Gamin's helping hand. Gamin was so scared that Frodo would fall. And then it just happened so fast – he slipped backward off the boulder and hit his head on a rock on the trail behind us, but instead of stopping, he just kept sliding, and then he rolled right off. We couldn't have stopped it. We just had to watch helplessly as he fell. I don't much know him, but I know Gamin grieves a lot. I feel bad for the little fellow. What an awful way to die."

Aragorn met Holden's gaze. "Gamin told me that Frodo stumbled and clung to a boulder for a time before falling, but you say that he slipped backward and hit his head and rolled right off."

Holden flinched with anger. "I'm telling you what I remember. Gamin wasn't thinking clearly…he was awfully upset, screaming at me to do something to help him, like I had wings or something."

"And you were not upset?"

Holden shrugged. "Frodo was Gamin's friend, not mine."

Aragorn set his jaw against the fury he felt against this lad so callous about such an awful misfortune. "Friend or not, if I saw someone die like that, I would be forever haunted, and I am seasoned in the matter of death."

"It was dreadful. I was upset, but I couldn't stop it. It wasn't my fault."

"I have not accused you of anything. I am merely trying to put together the details. I only want to find out what happened to a dear friend."

"Can I go now?"

Aragorn gave him a dark look. "Go on now. But I will be back."

The demeanors of the two lads nagged at him – in different ways. Gamin was clearly devastated by the death of his friend. There was no way to pretend such grief. But he was scared, hiding something. And Holden. He was sullen and defensive, but Aragorn sensed something sly and hateful in him.

Both were hiding something.

Aragorn pulled out a glossy amber colored stone from his pouch and held it in his palm. It hurt his heart to remember the day Frodo had given it to him.

* * *

Aragorn had packed, ready to set off from Bree. As always, he was reluctant to leave the comfort of Frodo's cottage, and he sat on Frodo's small sofa and stretched his long, booted legs out, smoking a last pipe.

Frodo bustled in from the kitchen. "I've wrapped you some cheese and cucumber sandwiches in paper."

Aragorn accepted them gratefully. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you._ Thanks to your help, I shall now have the best herb garden in Breeland." He started to sit down beside Aragorn and then jumped again to his feet. "Oh, and I have something else for you."

Aragorn grinned. "I cannot fit anything more into my pack."

"Fear not. It is small. It will fit in your pocket." Frodo opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out something small. He polished it, blew upon it, and then set it in Aragorn's palm. It was a heavy, glossy stone. "We call this a Tookish stone, named after the esteemed Tooks who were known for having adventures, a rare trait in hobbits as you know. This is to keep you safe on your travels."

"Did you polish this?" Aragorn asked in wonder.

Frodo smiled. "I did. I've worked on it at odd times during your absence. I was hoping to have it finished by the time you returned."

Aragorn kissed Frodo's brow in thanks. "I shall keep it with me on all my journeys."

* * *

Aragorn put the polished stone back in his pouch. Frodo should have had such a talisman with him.

He made his way to the Prancing Pony. Although the sun shone brightly, everything seemed gray and colorless.

Aragorn sat in his corner of the common-room, smoking a pipe, and even that pained his heart now. He would never again smoke another pipe with Frodo. Frodo had taught him to blow smoke rings. In truth, Aragorn had already learned years earlier, but when Frodo had begged to teach him, he had not had the heart to tell him. He stared at his pipe, losing himself in it, remembering Frodo's nimble fingers around it.

That night Aragorn dreamed about Frodo. In the dream he sat in Frodo's garden, dismayed by how overgrown it had become.

The gate creaked open, and Aragorn's heart thudded when he saw that it was Frodo.

Frodo kept his head lowered, covered by his hood. He limped toward Aragorn, clutching his cloak close to him, shivering.

"You're alive," Aragorn gasped in wonder. "All this time we thought you were dead."

Frodo's voice was hoarse and full of pain. "It hurts."

"Let me look at you – I cannot believe…I marvel that you are alive at all."

Frodo kept his head down and shivered. "It hurts."

"Come, Aragorn said. "Let me have a look." He pushed back Frodo's cloak and choked with horror. The back of Frodo's head was pushed inward, clotted with blood, and his face – there was not much left of it. Blood soaked his shirt.

His eyes were still a brilliant sky blue.

Aragorn cleaned Frodo's face the best he could, but pieces of the hobbit's skin kept coming off, leaving nothing but blood and stark white bone.

While Aragorn cleaned, desperately trying not to hurt Frodo more, Frodo shivered and talked about what a good aim he had throwing rocks. The best in the Shire, after perhaps his cousin Pippin.

Aragorn woke up shivering under his wool blanket, Frodo's voice haunting him.

The sun had begun to rise so he went down to the Common Room. Nob brought him a cup of tea but he hovered, as if debating whether to say something.

"What is it, Nob?" Aragorn finally asked. He moved his chair closer to the fire. The dream had left him cold inside and out, and the fire seemed to do little to warm him.

Nob bit his lower lip and held his hands together. "I don't know whether I should say this or not, whether it's my place, but it's been on my mind for weeks now, since Holden and Gamin returned..." He trailed off and looked awkward.

Aragorn's heart sped. His uneasiness increased. "Go on."

"It's only that I know that Holden Ferny had it out for Frodo. So I can't help but wonder about how eager he was to guide him on a treacherous—"

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked sharply, and when Nob flinched, he lowered his voice. "What do you mean that he had it out for Frodo?"

"A few months ago Holden got caught stealing leather at Rushlight's shop. Frodo told Rushlight. Holden got into big trouble because of it. He never did like hobbits to begin with. He always makes rude remarks, even to our faces. He called me a dunghill rat on more than one occasion."

"You believe that Frodo's death is not an accident?"

His heart thudded with fury. Frodo was so trusting. He always believed the best of people. He would have been quick to believe that Holden had forgiven him for getting him into trouble.

"I…well…I don't know for certain." Nob looked uncomfortable. "But I also wouldn't be surprised. The Fernys are bad news, all of them."

Aragorn's stomach heaved. The best hobbit in the Shire, heir of Bilbo, Elf friend and dear friend of Gandalf, had been shoved over the edge of a cliff by a young rogue who would amount to nothing if his uncle was anything to judge by.

Suddenly Nob looked up in surprise and wariness, and Aragorn turned to follow his gaze. He grinned when he saw the other Ranger. He rose to greet him. The two friends embraced, and then Halbarad joined him.

"Do you need anything more, sir?" Nob asked, clearly nervous around two Rangers.

"No. Thank you, Nob."

"Hail and well met," Halbarad said. "It's not often that we meet in the comfort of an inn."

"Halbarad, I am sorry I cannot offer you more cheer, but now that you are here, I could use your help. A dear friend perished and it has just come to my attention that his death was not accidental, as it first seemed."

"Who? Did it happen here in Bree?"

"Do you remember the dear cousin of Bilbo Baggins?"

"One of the Shire-folk that now lives here in Bree?"

"Indeed."

Halbarad looked ill. "He is dead? I remember him. Was he not just of age?"

Aragorn nodded. "I want the lad responsible to be brought to justice. Not such a lad is Holden anymore but a young man of ill intent. But before I nab him, I must find out what happened. Halbarad, we must question Gamin, the other lad who witnessed it."

 

* * *

 

Aragorn gestured to a stool. "Sit down."

"I've told you what happened," Gamin said, but he obeyed Aragorn, shivering. Halbarad remained standing, leaning against the mantle.

"We know you did not tell me everything because you were protecting your friend or afraid of what he might do," Aragorn said in a soft voice. "We just want to get to the bottom of what happened."

"Did you push Frodo over the side of the cliff?" Halbarad demanded.

Gamin looked up in horror. "No!"

Aragorn broke in, "We know that Frodo didn't just fall. Tell us what happened."

"I told you…" He looked at Aragorn, his eyes frightened and wet.

Aragorn said, "When we spoke yesterday, you told me he stumbled and grabbed a boulder and clung there for a while before falling to his death."

"I couldn't remember."

"Holden doesn't much like hobbits, does he?" Halbarad asked.

"I don't know," Gamin said. "He's never said anything to me about not liking hobbits."

"You don't think he would hold a grudge against Frodo for the time Frodo caught him stealing from your father's shop?"

Gamin paled. Clearly he didn't think the Rangers knew about that ugly episode. "I don't know…I thought they were getting along during the trip. They jested and laughed together. But then…he…Holden suddenly turned wicked and cruel toward Frodo and I couldn't stop him. He started flinging rocks at him on that narrow trail and I couldn't stop him!" Gamin's voice was filled with agony.

"Tell us what happened," Halbarad said.

"The truth this time," Aragorn said.

* * *

Scrambling up the knife-edge ridgeline that resembled the spine of a mighty beast, Gamin experienced a sudden surge of confidence. This wasn't so frightening as long as he didn't look straight down. He kept his gaze upward, and he swallowed his fear long enough to take in the startling, unforgiving beauty. He could do this; they would make it to the summit, and what a tale it would make for the lads back in Bree.

"Gamin," Frodo gasped from behind him. Gamin was relieved that Frodo had asked to switch places with him. It made him feel safer. "It's perfectly wondrous, like something out of an Elvish tale. I've never seen the sky so blue. We can almost touch it."

Gamin looked at Frodo over his shoulder. Frodo's smile was radiant and his eyes matched the stunning blue of the sky. It was one of those connecting moments that deepened a friendship forever.

"I'm glad we did this," Gamin said.

Frodo nodded. "I had my misgivings, but we're almost there." He smiled wickedly. "Then of course I'll want to know about the haunting tales."

"I can't wait to tell father. He'll beat me for doing something so dangerous, if course."

"And I've got a good tale for Strider. He'll never believe it."

Holden stopped suddenly and turned around. "Hey, Gamin! Did you know that hobbits are really good aim with a rock?"

Frodo looked at him, bemused.

Holden suddenly flung a small stone at Frodo, and it struck his shoulder. Frodo grabbed his shoulder and glared at Holden. "Why did you do that?"

"Did that hurt, hobbit? How about another!" Holden threw another stone at Frodo, and this one glanced off his upper arm and bounced soundlessly off the cliff.

Gamin shouted, "Holden – what are you doing? There's no call for that."

"Please do not jest up here," Frodo said quietly, still rubbing his shoulder. "It is too dangerous."

But a third rock struck him in the chest, driving him to his knees. Gamin was sickened by the thud it made.

"Stop this at once," Frodo said, biting his lip in pain. "I shall have to speak to your father."

"Stop it, Holden!" Gamin yelled. "I mean it!"

Holden snorted and flung another rock at Frodo. Frodo ducked, and this rock missed him. "This little rat caused me a lot of trouble, Gamin. So shut your trap unless you want some, too."

Now Gamin's voice turned into pleading. He was truly afraid. Before their adventure, he hadn't known that Holden still held a grudge against Frodo and he had no idea how far Holden would take his bullying in such dangerous territory. He could hurt him badly or even kill him. "Please don't do this here. You want to rough him up on solid ground? Go ahead. Even though I think it's cowardly to beat a hobbit, I won't say anything. But not up here."

The next rock hit Gamin. "Stop!"

"I said to shut your trap."

Another rock struck Frodo's cheek, and bright blood bubbled just above his jaw.

"Let us turn back, Gamin," Frodo said, his face pale. The joy had fled his face and his eyes were now bright with fear and pain. Blood trickled down his cheek and his hands shook. He kept his voice steady. "Holden, if you have a problem with me, please, let us discuss it back on solid ground. I know you're angry. If you want to strike me, if that will make you feel better, then let's do it on safe ground."

"You frightened up here?" Holden asked, moving down, toward Frodo.

Gamin swallowed. An urge to give Holden a mighty push, to watch him topple over the cliff, came over him. Later he would agonize about that and wish with all his heart that he had.

Frodo backed down the rocks, away from Holden, still mindful of his steps. He looked terrified, and blood smeared his cheek. He met Gamin's gaze.

Gamin grabbed Holden. "Don't touch him."

Holden gripped Gamin by the tunic and thrust him toward the edge. "You want to fall a long way?"

Gamin's throat dried and the world brightened in a terrible and dizzy way.

_So this is the end…the very end…_

"No!" Frodo cried. "Gamin…!"

Holden pulled Gamin back up on the trail. "Don't touch me again, or it's over." Gamin saw the blank darkness in Holden's eyes and knew that he spoke the truth. Gamin knew he only lived still because Holden was absorbed with vengeance on Frodo.

Holden climbed down toward Frodo. Gamin wept, "Please…please…Holden, no! Don't hurt him."

Holden grabbed Frodo by his cheeks, yanking his head up. "I saw the smugness in your eyes when the lawmen came for me after you flapped your mouth in Rushlight's shop."

"No," Frodo whispered. "Holden, please." He glanced down the cliff in terror. "I'm sorry."

Holden lifted Frodo under the arms. Frodo flailed, kicking at Holden's legs in a storm of fierce panic.

"Don't struggle!" Gamin cried. Frodo obeyed him, going completely limp, and Gamin's heart sank. Frodo trusted him, and he could do nothing to help him.

Holden dangled him over the edge. "Long way down, isn't it? Don't worry, Gamin, the hobbit don't weigh much more than a dog. I ain't gonna drop--"

Suddenly Holden slipped on loose rocks, and instinctively dropped Frodo in order to break his fall. Gamin clamored down to where Frodo had fallen, and looked over the side, fearing the worst.

Just out of reach, Frodo had snagged a rock. His hands shook as he clung to it.

"Gamin…" he whispered. "Help me."

Gamin fumbled through his pack for rope. "Hold on, Frodo. I'm going to help you. I'm going to make sure you get up."

Holden bent down on hands and knees and peered down at Frodo with a sneer. "Not so smug now, are you?" He gathered a handful of dirt and flung it down at Frodo. Frodo turned his face away, coughing, and his hands slid.

"Frodo!" Gamin cried. "Hold on…" He tried to pull the rope from his pack, but it kept tangling and knotting. He hated Holden now with an intensity that he did not think was possible. But there was naught he could do about that until he could get down from this mountain or he was certain he would join Frodo.

Then Gamin watched as Frodo's fingers started to slide again, and a strangely beautiful peace fell over his face. He did not cry out even once as he plummeted far below into the gorge.

 

* * *

Aragorn covered his face, heartsick, his grief fresh and raw. He knew now that Gamin spoke the truth of what had happened to Frodo. For several moments the only sound was that of Gamin weeping and the crackling of fire in the hearth.

_I'm so sorry, my friend, that you suffered for even one moment._

His heart ached thinking that Frodo had been thinking about telling him the tale of his adventure just minutes before his death. He would never in this world find another friend quite like Frodo.

"You did all you could do to save Frodo's life," Halbarad said gently to the weeping lad.

"I miss Frodo so much," Gamin said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'll never forget it, watching him fall like that."

Aragorn would make certain that Holden never again saw the light of day. He had ripped away a treasure on a cruel whim and for that he would pay dearly. None of them would ever know whether Holden had really intended to drop Frodo or whether he had only wanted to give him a bad scare or whether he had been indifferent whether Frodo fell or not.

"Let's get Holden," Aragorn said to Halbarad.

The two Rangers exchanged grim expressions.

"You may go, lad," Aragorn said to Gamin. "It was a dreadful tale, but one that needed to be told. I believe that you did all you could do to help him, and I thank you for that."

Gamin nodded and fled the room still weeping.

* * *

"Holden."

Holden muttered a curse and took off running. It was fruitless, of course. The Rangers easily overcame him, and Aragorn was none too gentle as he tied Holden's arms behind him.

"Was it worth it?" Aragorn asked. "Was it worth it to kill that hobbit?"

"I didn't kill him. He slipped."

Aragorn shook him. "I know what happened and I know why you did it. How brave you were to push an unarmed hobbit over a cliff."

"It was an accident. Gamin's a liar! He was in on it, too—" He stopped, realizing the error of his words.

"In on what?"

"Nothing."

Halbarad grabbed his tunic, stepping right into his face. He was nearly a head taller and Aragorn felt satisfied by the flicker of fear in Holden's eyes.

"Save it," Halbarad said.

Aragorn added, "We know you killed him. I will never understand it or forgive it, but know that you will never again see the light of the sun, at least not while I live."

"You can't do this," Holden cried out. "It was only a little hobbit! It's not like it was one of us or anything."

Aragorn barely refrained from snapping his neck and shoved him forward, toward a lifetime of a dark underground prison cell. "A waste of life, Halbarad. A waste of life."

"And good riddance," Halbarad said.

* * *

In a courtyard in fair Rivendell Frodo was brought to rest at last, buried before a silver fountain. The task of retrieving what remained of Frodo had been far from easy. Aragorn and Halbarad had risked life and limb to scale the hazardous cliff down into the gorge.

When Aragorn looked down upon the molded tangle of Frodo's clothing and the bones picked clean, Aragorn's wounded heart opened wide like an infected wound. He could do nothing but stare, tears flowing freely. Without a word, Halbarad removed his cloak and gently gathered Frodo inside it, wrapping him with tender care.

"We shall take him to Rivendell," Aragorn said. "I cannot imagine him elsewhere."

* * *

During the burial Bilbo wept, broken inside. Aragorn did not expect the elderly hobbit to cling to life much longer after this cruel blow to his heart. Gandalf rubbed Bilbo's shoulders, his eyes glistening.

Long after the others left the grave, Aragorn remained, touching the ground under which Frodo lay as if feeling for a heartbeat.

"My friend," he said. "Always you longed for adventure and always it was I who trekked into the wilds and brought you outlandish tales. But now you have gone where I cannot. In time, I only hope that we shall meet and you can tell me your tale."

The eternal bubbling of the water from the fountain, which fell like silver glass, sounded to him like distant music, and he smiled, his heart lifting for the first time since learning about the tragedy, imagining Frodo in a far green country with white shores.

 

END


End file.
